The Good Left Undone
by bridgetlynn
Summary: What drives that strength of character? McKay didn't know either John Sheppard well enough to fully understand. Add in a reporter, a desire for truth and a taste of what "could be" & that unsigned non-disclosure agreement could be a problem. Vegas fic.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Stargate: Atlantis, and anything relating to the Stargate Multiverse, is owned by: MGM, Sci-Fi Channel, Brad Wright, Robert C. Cooper, et. al. Title comes from "The Good Left Undone" by Rise Against (writing credit: Tim McIlrath). This is purely for entertainment purposes and in no way am I profiting.

**Note:** Takes place in the SGA Reality established in episode 5x19 "Vegas".

* * *

_So I tell myself, I tell myself it's wrong._  
_There's a point we pass from which we can't return._  
_I felt the cold rain of the coming storm._  
**"The Good Left Undone"** - Rise Against (Tim McIlrath)

* * *

Casey Ward was tired. She was also confused, frustrated, dirty and now, six hours after arriving at the hospital, didn't have a shot in hell at making tomorrow's paper.

The logical side of her brain had been pointing out that these were all very good reasons to go home, shower and sleep. Unfortunately for logic, five hours earlier, when she realized she couldn't locate an emergency contact in his cell phone, she had remembered what it was like to be a human being (rather then, according to Sheppard, a blood-sucking reporter) and had decided to stay. Besides, if it weren't for the steady beat of the heart monitor, not to mention pulsox and the hiss of oxygen, she'd have been hard pressed to believe the sleeping figure was even alive.

Her dark eyes nervously took in the pale figure of John Sheppard lying on the hospital bed and slowly took a sip of the hospital coffee she had practically been mainlining all night; after a quick note of thanks to whatever deity allowed reporters, cops and doctor's too all be capable of stomaching the worst possible brews. He hadn't so much as twitched since the doctor's had wheeled his gurney into this room two hours earlier from recovery after repairing a gunshot wound to the left upper chest along with whatever other injuries the detective had sustained.

Therein came the frustration.

Casey still didn't have a clear picture of what had happened to the man, who had been a thorn in her side since the moment she stepped into Las Vegas two years earlier, despite the fact that she was also the only person who was waiting for news about him. In her mind, that counted for something; the doctor's didn't seem to agree. She muffled an amused snort at the thought as it passed through her mind; if anyone at the paper knew where she was at that moment they'd die of shock. Her thoughts then briefly went to the head-shot of the very man she was staring at, taken at a crime scene a year earlier, that hung in her cubicle and smirked again.

"I'm going to have to print another one out, the old one has too many holes and the dart's just don't stick as well," she told him with a short laugh, breaking the silence for the first time all night. "In all seriousness," she added quietly. "Despite the numerous times I've told you my job would be easier if you'd just drop dead? I didn't really mean it."

And there came the waves of confusion again.

She could swear he was growing paler, even though a nurse had assured her that he was stable and would be fine, and a Las Vegas where she was a crime beat reporter and she didn't have a John Sheppard to argue with was a Las Vegas Casey Ward didn't think she wanted to live in. She didn't like that realization for the simple fact that she wondered how screwed up someone had to be that their least favorite person on the planet also, on some days, was their favorite.

"You're annoying, you stonewall me at every crime scene, you don't give a shit about anyone else but yourself but you sure as hell better wake up John Sheppard 'cause you also keep me on my toes and make me work for it," she told him as a parting shot before standing up, squeezing his hand lightly and walking out the door.

It was the scene she witnessed across the hall at the nurses desk, as she stepped outside the door, that made her pause. A brunette in scrubs, one of Sheppard's loose lipped, clingy, conquests if she remembered correctly, was talking to a man in a suit and neither appeared to be very happy with the other. When the nurse met her eyes from across the hall Casey froze; there was a clear warning in them, a warning she caught immediately once she heard the name of the patient the man was asking about. If that didn't send up any internal alarms, the marine escort he had with him did.

Slowly, so as not to be noticed, Casey reached up and used her finger to remove John's name from the white board next to his room and slipped back inside. Looking over the pale figure one more time she leaned back against the door and sighed, momentarily closing her eyes from her own exhaustion.

"What the hell did you get involved in Sheppard?"

She didn't feel like she breathed again until she saw the three men, through the door's small window, walk away from the nurse's station looking frustrated. Once she was certain they were completely gone she carefully lowered herself back into the bedside chair and relaxed her body as much as possible; once again wondering if tracking the homicide detective into the desert that afternoon, and subsequently dragging his shot up body back into the city, had been the smartest or stupidest thing she had done in her career.

"This story better be worth it John," she grumbled; no doubt in her mind that she'd get him to tell her what had happened, one way or the other. "Serial killer my ass," she added with a slight glare in his direction.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm tackling this because, despite saying I would never attempt an SGA fic (I like what's on the screen far too much to mess with it) I've been enthralled with "Vegas" since I first saw it. It presented an astounding opportunity to write in a universe I love, but at the same time allows for a great deal of creative freedom to create new details (and my tendency to lean towards darker fic). Also, I got a kick out of the opening scene with Sheppard ignoring (and then snarking on) the reporter.

Comments, questions and critiques always appreciated (and I find them to be the best sort of motivator).


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue.  


* * *

The first thing John Sheppard was aware of when consciousness returned, other then not being dead, was a steady beeping behind his head. That, plus the considerable lack of rocks under his body, clued him into the fact that he had somehow made it to a hospital. Keeping his eyes closed the detective listened carefully for any other sounds in the room; finding none, he slowly opened his eyes against any potential glaring light and glanced around.

The small hospital room held one other, empty, bed and a few spare pieces of equipment; but other then that was fairly bare. The waning light coming in a window informed him that he had been unconscious for at least a day, and the familiar, tight, pulling in his shoulder alluded to a recent surgery. It was the fact that he couldn't remember anything past falling over in the desert that was sending his gut into knots.

He remembered McKay's words about ruining his life and swallowed nervously. The view out his window, from what he could see, told him he was at University Medical Center but that didn't mean he wasn't in some type of custody either. McKay's words about not engaging the alien came to mind as well; but he couldn't think of what he had possibly done wrong there, if anything that bought McKay's people more time.

"Focus John," he mumbled around dry lips and pushed his fears away for a moment so that he could start wishing for a glass of water.

Almost as though someone had heard him, and after what he had learned recently he didn't discount it as a theory, the door opened and admitted the one nurse he had hoped wasn't on duty. The brunette smiled tightly at him as she approached the bed and finally stood silently beside him looking worried.

It was the lack of immediate babble that unnerved him, "Jenny?"

"Hey," she replied and then shook her head. "Sorry, do you want some water or something? I've got to tell the doctor you're awake." He silently nodded in response to her question and watched her nervously move around the room as she settled him with a cup of water and a straw for easy access. "I'll go get the doctor," she added hastily before hurrying out of the room again.

"Okay, maybe I am in custody?"

His thoughts were cut off seconds later as Jenny and a doctor walked back into the room and raised the bed for him. He half-heard the surgeon inform him that he had been unconscious for twenty-four hours and that the wound looked like it would heal nicely. The man prattled on about how lucky he was, the bullet missed all vital organs, had only minimally torn muscle and by being lodged in his shoulder had prevented John from bleeding out immediately. It wasn't until the doctor had once again breezed out of the room that John focused his attention on Jenny again.

This time the nurse met his gaze head on.

"That reporter brought you in," she told him bluntly, smirking slightly when he choked on the water he had been about to swallow.

"Reporter? Ward?"

"Tall brunette, impatient, convinced the world revolves around her?"

"Yea, that's her," John agreed frowning, privately wondering how the hell Casey had brought him to the hospital. "I guess I should be nice to her this week."

Jenny snorted down laughter at the comment and rolled her eyes before replying, "More like a month, she stayed through your surgery and according to the day shift she didn't leave until about eight this morning."

"Fuck," John hissed under his breath. Casey Ward staying at his bedside for that many hours meant one thing and one thing only; the blood sucking reporter had caught wind of a story. "Did she say anything?"

"Not a word," Jenny replied. "She just said she found you and brought you here. Didn't even tell anyone where she found you. Did Mikey do this?"

John groaned in answer to the question, while simultaneously thanking whatever God existed that Casey knew how to keep her mouth shut when it counted, and internally cursed his inability to sleep with women who didn't cling after the fact.

"Well?" she prompted.

"No, Mikey did not shoot me," he snapped. "Some stupid kid did," he added after a beat. "It's not a big deal. I'm alright, right?"

"You heard the doctor," she responded quickly. "Few days and you'll be good as new. Though you might need some physical therapy on your arm."

"What I need is to get out of here now Jen," he clarified. "Can you make that happen?"

"I repeat, major surgery John Sheppard," she replied before brushing his hair back and forcing him to grit his teeth and not jerk his head away. "You'll get a few days rest and then I'll give you a ride home."

"Yea, maybe," he muttered and let his eyes drift shut under her ministrations. It took a few minutes of steady breathing on his part for her to be convinced he was asleep and leave the room. However, the second he heard the door shut, his eyes snapped open again. "Twenty-four hours," he whispered, thinking of the length of time he had been unconscious. "And no one has come for me from that Starwhatisit, Gate place. That's a check in the good column; I think? Casey found me; another check in the good column. Aliens on planet earth, not so good."

The information overload John had received was still wreaking havoc on his brain and the thirty-nine year old didn't fully know how to process it yet. The only thought that he kept coming back to was that aliens were real. Not just aliens, but aliens that do a good job of impersonating vampires from another galaxy were real.

"Should probably think up a new name for Casey," he whispered around a near hysterical laugh. "Cause, hey, even she's not living up to the blood sucking thing anymore."

Once he had calmed his nerves down, again, John's thoughts once again turned to what he had learned; only this time a scarier thought took precedence over all others, what if that wasn't the only Wraith? McKay's words again came to his mind, only this time it was the scientist telling him about how at least one had slipped through their net. The words about the hive ship, three months earlier, over North America (not just Las Vegas) sent rolling nausea through his stomach. The memories of the starved Wraith in the cell forced him to close his eyes and breathe through his nose. A flash of the scene in, of all things, a board room had him laughing so hard that tears were rolling down his face.

"The earth is being protected by fucking politicians," he whispered to the empty room and again opened his eyes; eyes that had hardened as his thoughts circulated faster. Half on autopilot by this point John reached to the side table and grabbed the hospital phone, quickly dialing a number he didn't want to acknowledge he knew by heart and waited until it was answered by an annoyed voice on the other end.

"Ward? It's Sheppard. Get here now. We need to talk," he choked out and hung up without waiting for a response as sudden thoughts of phone taps and hidden cells next to blue aliens who ate humans entered his mind.

Knowing he wouldn't have very long before the reporter arrived at his hospital room, John closed his eyes and began organizing what would essentially be his escape plan from the hospital and for the first time in a very long time felt a fire burning inside of him that didn't relate to booze, sex or money.

"Well McKay," he mumbled quietly, a dangerous smile gracing his face. "You wanted me to care," he added, knowing without a doubt that the scientist had no idea what he had opened himself, or his carefully guarded secrets, up to. Because, as the detective had learned, John Sheppard in any reality was a dangerous man; but, as he told McKay, this one didn't have a whole lot to lose.

And a John Sheppard with nothing to lose was the most dangerous of all.

* * *

**Note:** Hey Rodney? Those non-disclosure agreements exist for a reason. It appears Vegas-McKay didn't learn everything there is to know about how (either) John Sheppard ticks because things are about to get very interesting in Sin City. If nothing else, the very volatile working relationship John and Casey possess (in my head) should prove for a mix between comic gold and justifiable homicide. That is, of course, if she doesn't check him into the first psychiatric facility she sees.

Comments, questions and critiques are always welcomed. Thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue.

* * *

Casey barely registered the sound of a dial tone in her ear before she was throwing her cell phone into her side bag and shutting down her desktop computer in a series of hurried movements. The file she had been carefully compiling all day was slipped into the side of her laptop case as she took one final glance around her small cubicle. Once the reporter was convinced she hadn't left any potentially incriminating information around she grabbed both her bags, hoisted them over her right shoulder and slipped down the hallway of the still crowded newsroom.

She only encountered one minor snag in sneaking out early and was forced to duck into the bathroom in avoidance of her section editor. The man had little use for her on a good day but she hadn't written a single word in over three weeks. She could see the writing on the wall when it came to her job and the thirty-two year old knew that if she didn't turn something in soon she was as good as fired.

Casey had been warned when she was hired two years earlier; if she wanted to write about crime, that was fine. She just had to write about regular every day news too. She could still hear the editor-in-chief's words, "Las Vegas isn't New York City. We live on tourism. We don't have a "crime beat" section, or a police reporter, or whatever you want to call yourself. The big things, yea, we write about them. The corner liquor store getting knocked over? We don't. Scaring off Joe-Kansas from wanting to roam The Strip and spend money is not good business."

It was a month after that conversation that Casey Ward officially met Officer John Sheppard. She still enjoyed the irony that it was at a liquor store robbery.

The call had come over the police scanner she kept in her living room and Casey had pulled in right after Sheppard, who was the first responder. She had watched from her car across the street, carefully taking pictures with a telephoto lens as he cleared the scene. She had then watched as a detective arrived and all but shoved the dark haired officer out of the store for perimeter control. That move on the Detective's part had sealed Sheppard's fate as far as Casey was concerned. The rest of her evening had been spent standing in front of Officer Sheppard, questioning him over and over until he quietly, with a look that told her he both annoyed and impressed, conceded the details she needed to do a short blurb.

Sitting in early evening traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard, thinking of the memories of that first meeting with the hardened, but still easily amused, Officer, who had a year later become the even more hardened Detective, Casey decided she missed that Sheppard. Two years earlier they hadn't been remotely friendly; but she hadn't been afraid he would bite her head off if she asked him a question at a crime scene. She also hadn't been afraid he'd get himself killed at one either. The blood covered leather backseat of her 1967 Plymouth GTX convertible was telling her differently now.

The progression, combined with what she had learned since she left the hospital earlier that morning, had her beginning to get scared.

The traffic finally picked up pace and she settled into a more comfortable drive towards University Hospital; sifting through more relevant thoughts as she did. Her morning had been spent on a long phone call to a source at the power company, after quickly washing up and changing into the spare shirt she kept in her desk, trying to track down the reason for the massive shock wave she had felt; anything that merited two fighter jets bombing a trailer. All she had learned from him was that the FBI had shut down any and all investigation into the matter by claiming National Security.

A trip over to Sheppard's precinct had resulted in more of the same double-talk runaround about the Feds shutting down the investigation. When Casey had ranted at Captain Hendrick's over the fact that he was letting the FBI take away the department's right to investigate a shooting of one of their own she had been bluntly informed that Sheppard had resigned and he was no longer the Captain's problem.

Two hundred dollars later, Casey also learned that every piece of evidence and report from the serial case, three months worth of information, had seemingly disappeared.

If two and two made four then every ounce of logic Casey possessed was telling her to leave John Sheppard to his own devices and go write about the UNLV Greek Row Fundraiser for the local senior citizen center. It was the glance into the backseat of her car, seeing the blackened streaks she had attempted to wipe up earlier, hours after witnessing it leaking out onto the seat herself while she futilely attempted to stop it with an old NYU sweatshirt that changed her mind.

"Government cover up's suck," she muttered after slamming the car into park in the hospital lot. One more look at the backseat had her climbing out of the vehicle, securing her laptop in the trunk and hurrying into the main building towards the room she had left less then ten hours earlier.  


* * *

After climbing five sets of stairs Casey arrived at the floor she knew John was being kept on and walked out into the hallway. The floor was nearly empty, minus a few nurses moving around, leaving the brunette with a ecstatic smile; she had thought sneaking in two hours before the evening visiting hours began would be more difficult.

Slowly, but purposefully, Casey made her way down the hallway; she had learned years ago that if you looked like you knew where you were going, no one bothers you. Unfortunately, the one person who decided to bother Casey was the one who knew exactly who she was.

"Ms. Ward?"

"Shit," Casey muttered under her breath before turning with a forced smile to face the nurse who had questioned her. "Hi, umm, I'm sorry, I forgot your name."

"It's Jenny," the younger woman replied with gritted teeth. "What are you doing here? Visiting hours haven't yet begun; and I'm highly doubtful John is in any position to give an interview."

"Well, I'm not here to interview Detective Sheppard," Casey replied, the formal use of his name slipping out by habit. The last time she had actually spoken to the other woman there had been more then a few accusations thrown by the nurse and Casey wasn't in the mood to pick apart exactly why she would never been seen in John Sheppard's bed. "But, he did call me and ask me to come down. It sounded important."

Jenny scowled and for a second Casey thought she was actually going to enforce the visiting policy; but, after a moment's hesitation, the younger woman nodded and spoke, "I'm only letting you in because of those people that were here last night. Something was weird about them."

"You mean, besides the fact that Sheppard was discharged from the Air Force and not the Marines?" Casey asked rhetorically and before the nurse could change her mind was down the hallway.

She quietly entered the room she remembered to be John's, noting that his name was still absent from the white board on the wall outside, and chuckled when she saw his eyes closed. A closer glance at his face and chest, upon reaching the bedside, had her rolling her eyes and slapping his leg, "Wake up you faker."

"Damnit, I was hoping I wouldn't have to talk to you right away," he shot back, without opening his eyes.

"Well, you hoped wrong. I would have let you rest a little longer, except that your fan club president still seems convinced that we're making like bunnies on the side."

"I'm not sure if it's the pain from my shoulder, or the thought of having sex with you, but I just got a little bit nauseous."

"I appreciate that, really I do," Casey replied dryly, but couldn't push the smirk off her face. This was the John Sheppard she had met two years ago; unapologetically sarcastic, more broken then she had expected, but with a hint of a sharp sense of humor and more then a little fight still inside of him. The dried up shell she had been dealing with since he made Detective was getting old. "Okay, so why'd I need to get here right away?"

"I can't tell you," was the immediate response the reporter received, complete with a shockingly apologetic look.

"Okay?" she questioned, trying not to get annoyed with him right off the bat. "Then why am I even here?"

The answer she received was simple, straight-forward and crazier then she had ever heard him, "I need you to get me out of here."

Casey felt herself blanch at the request and pictured his half-conscious form as she tried to half drag, half walk him into her car, heard his pained groans when she pushed the material of the sweatshirt she had been wearing over her clothes into his wound, felt his fingernails dig painfully into her wrist as he instinctively tried to stop the person causing him pain before she replied with a resounding, "Fuck. No."

"Oh come on. Like you give a shit about my actual recovery."

"You're right," she replied, glaring at the man. "I do however care about the fact that I probably destroyed the upholstery of my car trying to get you here."

"I'll pay you back."

"With what money you gumshoe flyboy?"

"You used that insult last month."

Sighing in frustration Casey sunk into the seat next to John's bed and rested her head in her hands having decided in that moment that she was too tired to fight, "I can't sneak you out of here Sheppard. Do you remember last night at all?"

"I remember getting shot," he admitted, studying her with a focused gaze.

"Yea, well, let's just say that I remember a whole lot more. Including tracking your GPS with mine, pulling up maybe five minutes after that trailer blew, seeing you hit the ground face first and being pretty damn convinced you were dead."

"Oh," he mumbled. "Sorry?" The lack of laughter that answered his apology was more telling then any words could have been. "Casey, I'm serious. I can't tell you," he insisted. "At least, not, here," was added very quietly.

Casey's head raised at the addendum and she met green eyes that were staring into hers so intensely that for a half second she completely understood why the man's bedroom almost had a revolving door. Then the intensity changed, it deepened, it told Casey to trust him on this, to help him. After a few more seconds of staring him down, and cursing the strangely dynamic connection they shared when actually choosing to work together, Casey nodded in acceptance of his request.

"So," she asked him quietly, standing up and grabbing the clothes he had been wearing the night before out of a plastic hospital bag. "Where are we going from here?"

"Your place," he responded and innocently held up his uninjured hand when snorted in disbelief. "Call it a gut feeling, but I don't think I should go back to mine right now."

Casey reminded herself of the Marines and the man in the suit from the night before and reluctantly agreed, "Yea, especially since there were Marine's here last night."

"There were what?" John hissed, noticeably losing what little color he had and making Casey doubt her decision to break him out.

"Jenny didn't tell you?"

"No, she told me you were here all night. She didn't say shit about anyone else."

"Well, they were here asking questions. That's part of the reason I stayed as long as I did," she explained as she helped him stand and then carefully removed the gown he was wearing so he didn't jostle his shoulder. A quick glance down, to confirm he had underwear on, froze her eyes to his abdomen and chest.

"Wonderful," he muttered and then raised an eyebrow as he noticed her line of sight. "Clothes? Please? I mean, I know I'm eye-candy and all but we're sort of in a rush."

"Don't flatter yourself," she muttered back, trying to force her eyes off the many inches of skin that was exposed to her. She very quickly found herself wishing she was staring because he really was a strikingly handsome man rather then because his ribcage was a mottled mix of various colors from different stages of bruising. Without another word Casey bent and helped him step into his pants, pulling them up and fastening them quickly. "Shirt's ruined," she added quietly. "Jacket we can salvage for now. Do you know if there's any scrubs around here?" she asked quickly, an unwelcome nervousness overcoming her normally organized brain.

"Case," John interrupted before she could begin tearing the room apart to look for a shirt. "Calm down. What's wrong?"

"You look like someone's personal punching bag!"

The raised eyebrow he gave her punched her in the gut, "And you care why?"

"Do you really think I dislike you that much?"

"No," Sheppard replied carefully. "You're here after all. I just, I dunno, I don't really think about stuff like that. I owe people money, a lot of money actually, I don't pay and well, you see what happens."

"Yea John, I do care," she agreed."In some weird way, despite your best efforts to drive me insane, I trust you and something is going on. I'm going to find out what it is, with or with you."

"With me," he responded. "There is no way in hell you're digging into this without me," he continued and if his complexion grew paler or his pupils seemed to dilate Casey chose not to call him on it at that moment.

"Let's get out of here," she finally snapped after they had both stood in an awkward silence for a full minute. "Just put the jacket on. We'll go to my place."

"Good," he whispered, sounding more focused then she had ever seen him and making Casey squirm as his gaze.

"What?"

"Nothing, just thanks," was the quiet, simple, response she received.

"No problem," she replied just as quietly. "Besides who else was actually going to help you? You've slept with everyone else."

"Well, not everyone," he shot back in a whisper as they peeked outside the door and carefully walked along the, thankfully deserted, hall towards the stairs.

"Everyone who could help with this? Yea you have. That is every single female cop, nurse, doctor and reporter."

"Oh, well, when you put it that way," he mumbled darkly and lightly smacked the side of her arm with his mobile hand. "Ow."

"You deserved that."

"Shut up and walk," John ground out as they entered the stairwell and descended as quickly as they could without re-injuring him. It wasn't until they were both safely in the car and Casey was pulling out of the parking lot that John spoke again, "After I explain what's going on, you and I are going to need to put all the shit behind us and work together. You realize that right?"

Casey rolled her eyes at his comment and pushed down the urge to call his entire gender a few derogatory names before she replied, "Got a secret for you Sheppard; I've never actually disliked you. I've just liked making your life a little more interesting. You're a damn good cop, why do you think I've stuck to you like glue?"

"Honestly?"

"No lie to me."

"I thought you wanted to sleep with me."

"You are very lucky you're recovering from surgery," she snapped back and slipped her sunglasses on before lighting a cigarette and settling back to deal with Las Vegas rush hour traffic once more. "Oh and John? If I wanted to sleep with you, I would have two years ago when you asked."

"Damn," he muttered, laughter slipping into a voice that had been fairly monotone as of the past few months. "I guess I'm gonna have to work on getting over you then."

"Guess so," she mumbled back keeping her eyes on the road, so she missed the highly amused smirk the older male shot her before dropping his head back and trying to get some sleep before they reached her apartment. 

* * *

**Note:** I feel like I should point out first of all that this story will not be the slapstick John and Casey hour all the way through. Right now, the exhaustion, nerves and general experience of the night before are beginning to hit them and they're both ready to crash. I wanted to give you a little bit of background into how they met and what type of strange friendship they actually share both through their eyes verses how the rest of the "world" perceives them (there will be more of this throughout). I like to examine my characters and why they do the things they do. And while Casey and John aren't bestest buddies or anything of that nature there is a strange, mutual respect; as well as, a healthy dose of genuine amusement at some of the stupid things they each have been known to do on occasion.

Would love to hear your thoughts on this relationship (or anything in the story of course).

Thanks for taking the time to read.


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue.

* * *

Pulling up in front of a small suburban home with a detached garage was the first surprise John received after leaving the hospital. He let his eyes scan the surrounding neighborhood before turning to face the woman still sitting in the driver's seat, "You live here?"

"Above the garage," she clarified, opening her car door and stepping out. He slowly copied her actions, gripping the frame of the door as he stood until he heard Casey groan and take his arm carefully. "I gotcha flyboy."

"I'm fine. I can walk," John insisted, glaring down at the top of the head that came to just above his shoulder.

"There are stairs," was the only response he received before she was slowly steering him, while loaded down with two bags herself, up the driveway and then up external wooden stairs. "Welcome, mi casa and all that jazz," she muttered, tossing her bags, and him, onto the couch that was practically on top of the front door.

John eyed the apartment critically and suddenly felt better about his own living situation. The room John was sitting in seemed to be a combination of a living room and kitchen and he could see a short hallway past the kitchen that he assumed led to a bedroom and a bathroom. Before he could curb his tongue he found himself blurting out, "Nice milk crate coffee table. You live like you're still in college."

"Money's tight," she replied, glaring at him. "You hungry?"

"I could eat," he admitted, dropping back into the, surprisingly, comfortable couch with a wince. "I don't suppose you have any pain killers do you?"

"Hazards of checking out AMA. No drugs."

"I technically didn't check out AMA. I didn't actually check out at all," John pointed out with a smirk. His plan had initially been to go to the nurse's desk, request the paperwork and any prescriptions, no matter what they told him, before leaving. Then he had learned of the Marine presence at the hospital the night before and had immediately decided that leaving without any notice might be the better idea.

"Yea, I was there," Casey muttered, just loud enough for him to hear, and walked the short distance to the kitchen. "I'm taking you to a doctor in the morning though. You're going to need antibiotics."

"I'm more concerned about the pain killers," he replied, a hopeful tone filling his voice.

"Is it really that bad? You're not fucking with me right?"

"The shot wore off hours ago."

"Fine. Bathroom cabinet."

"Seriously?"

"Yea, remember last year when that idiot rear ended me on 592 turning onto The Strip?" John frowned and racked his brain trying to remember what she was talking about. Casey, apparently noticing the older male's confusion, elaborated, "You sent flowers to the newsroom 'cause I had left you alone for a week. And then you sent flowers, again, when you found out why I left you alone for a week. Every female at the paper was jealous of me for a while there. If they only knew the truth."

"Right," John drawled out, forcing a smile onto his face as he vaguely remembered. That had been right before he passed his detectives exam, he hadn't exactly been in the best state of mind for a few weeks there.

"Anyway, I didn't need the vicodin they prescribed once I got home from the hospital. So, go get one or two, I trust you to know what you should take, and come back here and tell me what the hell is going on."

John didn't say anything, in case she changed her mind, but stood up and slowly made his way a few steps down the hall until he found a small bathroom just outside of a bedroom. The pills were exactly where Casey said they'd be and he immediately dropped two into his mouth, using the bathroom faucet for water to swallow them down. His reflection, surprisingly, wasn't any different then it had been the afternoon before; he had been expecting a vast difference. Something that showed that his entire world view had been flipped on it's axis. After a few more seconds he finally came to the conclusion that one too many serious shocks in your life, and he'd had more then his fair share, and you just cease being effected by it.

"Numb," he muttered, carefully poking the beginning to mark near his eye. "Number," he added before popping one more of the pills and washing it down. The dosage on the bottle was for someone less then half his weight; and while, five years ago he wouldn't have even contemplated taking the narcotics before something so potentially big was going to land in his lap, things had changed in the last few years. "Not like you're gonna be flying anything Sheppard. Might as well enjoy the trip."

* * *

John managed to dissuade Casey from asking any questions until they had finished eating the hamburgers she had thrown together for them. However, once they were both settled on the couch, with beer, he knew he wasn't going to be able to stall any longer. Meeting her stare head-on John considered how to go about explaining, when a thought occurred to him and left him first quietly asking her to turn the radio onto a static channel.

"Static channel?" she asked back, just as quietly.

"Ambient noise." He watched Casey's eyebrows raise to nearly her hairline at the clarified request and then waited as she crossed the room to where he could see her stereo. His confusion only lasted for a second when instead of turning on the stereo, she reached up to a shelf and flicked a switch on a small black box. "Why am I not that shocked that you have an audio jammer?"

"Cause you've met me," she replied, flopping back onto the couch and taking a sip of her beer. "Now, no more excuses."

"How accurate do you think the idea of Big Brother is?"

"Big Brother like, Nineteen Eighty-Four, Orwell? Or, really stupid reality tv show?" she questioned, just in case his vicodin and beer soaked brain had meant something else.

"The book. Jesus Casey."

"Am I to assume you mean in practical application in today's society as opposed to the grandiose theoretical idea presented in the novel?"

"Yea."

"I wouldn't be remotely surprised if there's something like that going on. We're at war. Now, regardless of what anyone's personal feelings are on the subject; it's the truth. The Patriot Act being a perfect example."

"Good," John replied, gauging her expression after his answer and wasn't remotely shocked when her jaw dropped and she looked like she might immediately argue. "Hey, I'm not saying that the idea is good. I'm saying that, I'm glad you seem to buy into that it's possible."

"Why are we discussing this? We're never going to agree on it. Reporter here, free speech, the public has a right to know? Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Yea, yea, yea. And I was in the sandbox," John muttered. "We've had this discussion before. I promise, I have a point. Somewhere."

"Please get there. I need to get you bathed and changed. You're starting to get a little ripe," Casey shot back and then blushed at the eyebrow he raised in response. "Well, not bathe you, but, get you stuff for you to bathe with."

"I'm too tired to even respond to that properly," he informed her, only half a smile managing to grace his face, before launching into what had happened over the last few days starting with a new coroner being brought in at the last minute. He just had no idea how to elaborate on the story so that the word "aliens" could be used. At the moment, letting Casey think that some sadistic serial killer who had been draining bodies was blown up in his hideout was as specific as he felt safe with saying. "There's a lot more to it then that, but, I need us to be somewhere more secure before I tell you."

"This has something to do with the FBI confiscating every file and piece of evidence related to the case doesn't it?"

He was only marginally surprised that she knew that; mainly because even he hadn't known that yet.

"Yup, only they are not the FBI," he corrected, choosing to not tell the woman that his resignation from the police force had essentially blocked any new information from him. He figured she already knew that part as well.

"CIA?"

"Nope. Better hidden. From what I saw better funded then the usual alphabet soup as well. We're talking some seriously Black shit Casey."

The younger woman took a few minutes to consider his words and John waited, watching her carefully guarded expression and tried to figure out what the slight twitches could mean. Her normal tell was a slight narrowing of her eyes, but he didn't see any evidence of that this time. When it finally arrived in her expression he allowed himself to relax and listen, "Well, I have an idea of somewhere we can go. But first you need to answer me something. Where's your head at with this? What are you planning?"

"Nothing yet," he admitted, after finding his free hand quite interesting so as to avoid her eyes. "I just want to look into a few things. See if I need to clean up any more messes."

Her eyes narrowed again and he squirmed, just a little, under her glare as she spoke, "But you just told me that the guy who did this was blown to high heaven by a bunch of fighter jets."

"He was, but, there might be more then one suspect," he explained vaguely. "Also, something this guy from the organization said to me the other day. It got me thinking."

"What was it? He call you on your tendency to be an apathetic asshole?"

"Actually, no," John spluttered out in shock from the blunt comment and then paused and thought back to the few conversations he had with McKay. "Maybe? I don't know. Can you just trust me on this? If I'm wrong then no harm, no foul. If I'm even in the near ballpark of being right? We're screwed."

"What'd this guy say to you?"

"He, sort of, called me a hero."

"Remember what happened last time you tried to be a hero Sheppard?"

"Yea," he admitted. "But, it was still the right thing to do."

"You're right," Casey muttered, rolling her eyes. "We're screwed...or at least, by default, I am. I will not be wearing any red shirts around you for the rest of my life."

John chuckled as she got up shaking her head and waved for him to follow her back towards the bedroom where he could hear her opening doors and asking him what size pants he wears. Slowly making his way back to the bedroom, where he found Casey holding out a large pair of sweats and a t-shirt, he contemplated exactly how he was going to explain the entire story to her without sounding insane due to lack of evidence. He considered all the options he had at hand, while he attempted to wash himself up and hopped around to get the pants on with only one working arm, and finally decided that no matter what he told her he had to figure out a way that Casey didn't wind up in some hidden prison with him.

It wasn't until he was standing in the middle of her bedroom, arguing that he wasn't going to steal her bed while she wrestled the t-shirt over his head, that he realized he probably wasn't going to win any arguments with the brunette anyway and he should just suck it up and plunge head first into things.

As soon as they were somewhere a certain Dr. Rodney McKay and Agent (Mister?) Richard Woolsey couldn't locate him immediately after he explained.  


* * *

**Note:** All explanatory chapters have now been completed. We can finally get into the action-reaction portion of our adventure.

Comments, questions and critiques are (as always) welcomed. Anyone out there?


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue.  


* * *

The flickering of computer screens was the only break in the darkness of an office in the hidden Groom Lake facility known to those in the know as Area 51. A lone figure sat in a chair staring intently at the screens as the moving pictures played on a loop through a short five minutes of video. There were four different screens with four different movies; though, all four were of the same parking lot and contained the same car and the same female. It was that female that had captured Rodney McKay's attention.

The first time he had seen her had been the night before; trying to hide in the doorway of Sheppard's hospital room. It was the fact that he did not recognize her immediately that put her on his radar; especially because it meant that he possibly hadn't found out everything he needed to know about John Sheppard. After the nurse (who Rodney knew was an occasional overnight guest of the Detective) had stonewalled him from seeing Sheppard, going so far as to pretend as though she didn't know which patient he meant, his next logical move had been the security office where he quickly appropriated the last twenty-four hours of digital video. A subsequent request a few hours earlier had provided him with another twenty-four hours worth of video. Forty-eight hours of video and only twenty minutes of it was worth anything to the scientist.

A scan of the video had revealed very little to Rodney beyond that the woman had been the person to bring Sheppard to the hospital forty minutes after the explosion, she hadn't left until the following morning, she arrived again hours later and within a half hour she was once again leaving with Sheppard. Then, to make Rodney's aggravation even more complete the camera's angle on the classic convertible hadn't provided a shot of a license plate. Now all Rodney knew for certain was that this brunette was the reason he hadn't been able to pick Sheppard up in the dessert.

"But how did you get there in the first place?" he questioned, staring at a high definition capture of her lovely face. "How did you know?"

He had been willing to consider that she was merely a good samaritan; until he realized how often she was at the hospital within the space of twenty-four hours. That just raised his frustration. Sheppard's phones had been bugged for a month before they even approached him and his apartment had been watched. No one had ever heard of or noticed the woman and Sheppard would have had no way to pass any information on to her without Rodney knowing. Especially as, from what Rodney had gathered during the phone call with Sheppard earlier, the Detective had accidentally stumbled across the Wraith's trailer. Nothing had been planned.

A knock on the door of his temporary office pulled Rodney's attention away from the videos for the first time in a few hours. The scientist quickly barked out the most charming greeting he could manage at the moment, "What!"

"Doctor McKay? Sir?" the soft voice of a female tech squeaked from the, now, open doorway.

"There is only one reason you should be standing there," he warned in a dangerous voice. He had received too many unimportant distractions this evening and if he received another one the base personnel wouldn't know what had hit them.

"We found out who she is sir," she added, holding out a thin file. "There isn't a lot, but there is some information. Her name's Casey Ward, she's originally from New York and she's a reporter."

Rodney groaned and ran a hand down his face before replying, "Of course she is. And there has to be more information then that."

"Minimal at best. Just general public domain type stuff," the tech admitted nervously. "It's almost like she knows what to do to keep herself off certain people's radars."

"She's a reporter," Rodney snapped. "Of course she knows what to do. But there's no way a private citizen kept herself completely free and clear without some help. I want to know everything there is to know about this woman by the morning. She's keeping us from getting Sheppard."

Rodney took a few deep breaths after the tech all but ran out of the room and continued to stare at the minimal information in front of him. Casey Ward, attended New York University, worked for the New York Times and then two years earlier picks up and moves to Las Vegas for seemingly no reason. The tech had been right about minimal information. There was nothing in the file that Rodney himself couldn't have obtained within minutes if he had possessed her name earlier.

The record cleaning was so complete that Rodney found himself taking a closer look at it; which, he assumed, was exactly what whomever had wiped her record clean didn't want done. When he realized that even the minimal medical records his people had managed to scrape together were bordering on pristine the hair on the back of his arms was practically standing up.

"No one," he nearly growled, as a few pieces began to fall into place. "Is this perfect. Especially not someone who makes a living by digging their noses into other people's business. Who the hell are you Casey Ward? And what do you want with Sheppard?"

After another perusal Rodney tossed the file down on his desk and glared at it; as though it was the woman in question. It had been months since the Hive had arrived at the planet and the subsequent clean up had stranded the scientist in the Milky Way. He was tired and he wanted to return to Atlantis; but he was also under orders from Woolsey and General O'Neill that he was staying on Earth until he had convinced John Sheppard to join the expedition in some capacity.

The SGC wanted his gene; though, privately Rodney thought what they really wanted was the man he had met in the alternate reality. They wanted the good little solider who knew how to follow orders (and even a blind man could see that their universe's Sheppard didn't fit that mold at all). Regardless of that, Rodney thought he had been well on his way to completing his recruitment; at least he had before Casey Ward entered the picture.

"Leverage," he muttered and grabbed his desk phone. Glancing down at a list of numbers on the desk he pressed the button for the correct extension and waited until it was answered to bark into the receiver, "Get a team to Sheppard's apartment. If he's there, pick him up anyway possible. If he isn't there, I want every piece of information that we might have missed. Look for anything pertaining to a Casey Ward as well. And I don't want him to know you were there."

He still didn't know exactly who Casey Ward was, how she was connected to Sheppard, or who she was potentially working for; but at this point Rodney McKay didn't really care either. The war in Pegasus with the Wraith was reaching critical mass and having seen the other reality he was fairly well convinced, as were his superiors, that it was John Sheppard's presence that could turn the tide in their favor. And as he carefully contemplated the various ways he could make a certain reporter disappear from the equation he ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that kept trying to remind him that the John Sheppard his reality possessed was far different from the Sheppard he had met who served as Colonel Marshall Sumner's second in command and had led the first contact gate team of that reality. At this point they really only needed his gene; personality conflicts could be sorted out in many different ways at a later date.

A quieter voice, that was just as quickly ignored, also asked him when the ends had begun to justify the means.

* * *

Casey quietly re-entered her apartment, having just placed three suitcases containing all of her clothing in her trunk, and picked up her cell phone. Before she dialed she took a final glance around the small living room until she was convinced that she had gathered anything she couldn't replace. Not that there was much in the apartment of value to begin with; she had learned over three years ago that material possessions weren't what counted in the long run.

Scrolling through her phone book she selected the name she was looking for, Jason Roberts, and waited until the phone was answered in a sleepy voice.

"Hey Jason," she replied quietly.

"Casey?"

"Yea, it's me. I need a favor."

"What happened?" he questioned, his voice much more awake and sounding nervous.

"A friend and I need a safe place to stay for an undetermined amount of time."

"You're always welcome here," he assured her. "Did they find you?"

"No. I've been keeping a low profile," she replied, keeping the fear out of her voice. "This has something to do with the friend. Something weird's going on."

"Alright, well, you know where I live. You flying?"

"Too noticeable. We're gonna drive. Leaving as soon as I wake him up and get him into the car. Though, I'm gonna stop by and see Jackson first."

"Oh that's comforting," Jason muttered. "How badly injured?"

"It's...not terrible."

"It's not terrible?"

"I'm not going into details over the phone," Casey informed one of the only people she really trusted with anything anymore. She knew Jason could extrapolate just how bad terrible really was if Casey was willing to risk seeing her brother whom she hadn't even spoken to since she had returned from overseas two years ago.

"Alright," Jason finally sighed. "Just call me when you get to LA."

"Will do; and Jason? Thanks."

"No problem," he muttered and hung up leaving Casey staring at her cell phone for a few moments as she pushed back all the memories his voice brought to the forefront of her mind.

Memories of her younger, stupider self who thought she could save the world through journalism. Memories of front line reporting. Memories of an explosion, followed by a small cell and six horrifying months of her life, and the lives of five photojournalists, as they waited for their governments to either find them, or at least admit that they were missing. Memories of being the only one of the six held under the guise of quarantine for something she had picked up in the dessert after they were rescued. Memories of six more months of strange tests and equipment until the day she woke up in her apartment in New York again.

Memories she didn't want Sheppard to find out for his own safety.

"No," she repeated out loud to the empty room. "Focus on now Casey."

Forcing herself off the couch Casey headed back into her bedroom and gently shook John awake; freezing when he shot up in the bed and grabbed her by the throat. She waited as he oriented himself and watched as a horrified expression crossed his face as he released her.

"Sorry," he mumbled, wincing as he rubbed at his shoulder.

"It's fine," she replied, not wanting to admit that there's a good chance he could have received the same treatment if he woke her up in an unfamiliar place. Some things never really leave you. "We've gotta go. I figure we'll swing by your place and pick up some stuff first."

"Alright," John agreed. "Can I shower first?"

"Not til a doctor looks at that arm. Go wash up in the bathroom and take some pain killers, I left out a new toothbrush that I had in the closet."

"Thanks," he replied as Casey helped him lever himself off the bed and waited until he had entered the bathroom to drop herself onto the bed. Twenty minutes passed with Casey staring at the far wall; only moving when she heard John come back into the bedroom. "I'm ready."

"Good," she whispered, standing up and shaking off the nerves that had settled in with the phone call to Jason. Nerves that had started the night before when she agreed to take John someplace that was safe. "Let's go then," she added, leading him out of the apartment and locking the door behind her without looking back at the sparse apartment. The only thing left behind was an envelope on the counter to her landlord containing the rent for the month and a note explaining that she wouldn't be back and he could keep the security deposit.

* * *

When they pulled up to the dilapidated apartment building John had called home for the last few years he tried to study Casey's expression behind her sunglasses and was unsurprised to note that she didn't look shocked.

"So, this is me," he finally stated the obvious to break the silence that had descended on the car.

"Have to admit," she replied. "Not exactly what I expected."

"Really?"

"Yea, you strike me as a little better put together then this."

"Ditto," John said, poking her shoulder. "Yet I just stayed overnight above a garage."

"Touche," Casey muttered and climbed out of the car. "Should I put the top up and find a way to triple lock my baby?"

"No one's gonna touch it," John assured her. "It's in my spot. They know I'm a cop."

"Alright," she replied before walking around to help him out. "Let's get in there and get some of your stuff. I wanna be on the road in an hour tops."

"Where are we heading anyway?"

"LA," she responded, dropping her voice to a very quiet tone as she followed him into the building and up three flights of stairs. "I've got a friend there and no one will think to look for you at his place. Hell, no one even knows we're friendly."

"You and me or you and him?"

"Both, hopefully. I still expect full disclosure on why we've gone all cloak and dagger."

"You'll get it," John replied, unlocking his door and walking inside.

"Well, at least it looks better on the inside," Casey commented and John watched her eyes take in the strikingly neat accommodations. Though, when her eyes settled on the bottles of liquor scattered around, and her face took on a startled expression, he fought down his urge to find some reasonable explanation beyond the fact that he liked to drink a little too often.

"You can sit down. I won't be long," was what he said instead and left the living room, grabbing a small photo album off a side table on the way out lest the careful alliance they had formed didn't negate her need to snoop.

He moved quickly around his bedroom; first changing clothes and then grabbing the large duffel he hadn't used since he was discharged. The bag was then filled with a selection of clothes that he knew would last him a month if not more. He had half woken up when Casey was trying to sneak around and pack and had been both disturbed and comforted by the amount of clothing she had packed. He now knew she was in this for the long haul.

An old field issue backpack was then stuffed with his laptop, chargers, bathroom kit and the photo album.

Once he was certain he had taken anything he needed he stared at the two bags and groaned before reluctantly shouting, "Hey Casey? A little help?"

The only response he received was a laugh from the smaller brunette as she entered the room, put the backpack on and began dragging the duffel behind her towards the living room with him trailing along in mild embarrassment. They both stopped in the living room and John made his way to the bookshelf which was where he froze.

"What?" Casey asked, as she put the backpack down, when he hadn't moved for a full thirty seconds.

"Someone was here," he finally replied, his eyes scanning his bookshelf.

"How the hell can you tell? This place is practically spotless."

"Cause my books aren't in the right order," he admitted, suddenly glad for the slightly obsessive neatness being in the Air Force had instilled in him. Even happier that his own filing system wouldn't be apparent to anyone else. A filing system he had devised during his Special Ops years; specifically designed so that he could tell if someone had been messing around with his things. "We need to get out of here now," he finally choked out, nervousness washing over him as every worst case scenario began running through his mind; complete with a picture of the woman behind him being fed to a creature from another galaxy.

"Alright," Casey replied quietly and calmly. "Do you have everything?"

"No, I need my files. They're in the drop ceiling in the kitchen. Tile right above the stove."

"I'll get them," Casey responded and John watched as she walked across the room and around the corner into the small kitchen. He could hear her dragging a chair across the room and as she was busy with that he opened his desk drawer and quickly unlocked his gun safe. He didn't begin to relax until he saw the nine millimeter Beretta and extra ammo that he kept there. The gun was shoved into the holster he had strapped to his belt and the extra clips were stuffed into the backpack.

"You okay in there?" John called, more then ready to leave.

"Do you want all of these files?" she shouted back.

"Just the ones from the serial case. They're dated three months back."

"Alright," Casey replied and John heard her shuffling papers for a few minutes before she reappeared in the doorway holding a stack of files. "Got them. At least whoever was here didn't find these."

"Yea; or they did and left them," he pointed out and watched as she shrugged.

"At least they left them. You know it was probably just your loan shark."

"Mikey's people would have trashed the place and taken anything of value. They wouldn't care if I knew they ran through here."

"And there went whatever sense of comfort I had that you had visitors relating to your debts. Thanks for that."

"Anytime," John muttered, content in falling back into a sniping relationship if it kept her from figuring out that John had a very bad feeling they were being hunted. He knew how Black Ops worked; no matter what Rodney McKay had said to him about letting him go, whoever pulled McKay's strings were not going to want him out in the world with what he now knew. "Let's get out of here."

"Lead on MacDuff," Casey responded and grabbed the backpack and duffel again as she slowly followed him out of the apartment and down the stairs to the car.

Ten minutes later and they were on the freeway silently driving towards Los Angeles, both trying to ignore the sense of dread that had begun taking residence in their stomachs, for two entirely different reasons, that morning.

* * *

"She's leaving Las Vegas sir," Agent Max Dennis spoke into his phone as he followed far behind the black convertible on I-15 South.

"Where is she headed?"

"Most likely to Los Angeles based on our heading sir," Max replied cautiously, not really wanting to give any half information or guess-work to the man on the other end of the phone.

"That's unfortunate," his employer, who's name he still didn't know, responded in the same monotone Max had become used to since he was appointed to Casey Ward two years earlier upon her flight from New York.

"She's probably just going to see her brother," Max pointed out. "No harm, no foul. It's not like she knows anything to tell anyone."

"Is she alone?"

Max thought of the dark haired man he had seen with Casey; a dark haired man he had been shocked to see her with as his observations over the last two years had implied that they weren't remotely close to being friends.

"She's with Detective John Sheppard," Max admitted nervously, beginning to think that he had missed something over the last five days when he snuck away to visit his sick mother in Seattle.

"Sheppard?"

"Yes sir?"

"Follow them. I want to know what they're up to."

"Yes sir," Max replied firmly. "Should I pick her up at any point?"

"Not yet," the voice replied. "But Agent Dennis, if Sheppard appears to be a problem take him out quietly."

"What do you constitute a problem sir?" Max questioned. He didn't want to risk his mark finding out about the surveillance they had had on her by killing someone who could very well just be a lover. Though, if Sheppard was sleeping with the reporter that meant Max had missed a crucial detail well before five days ago and that didn't bode well for his own length of time on this plane of existance.

"The SGC wants him Agent Dennis. And if they get him, they'll get her. That's what I constitute a problem."

"Yes sir," Max whispered, dread filling his stomach. Apparently he had missed something very cruicial. "I'll fix this."

"See that you do Agent," the voice replied before hanging up and leaving Max focused on the black car ahead of him as all parties sped west into the early morning dusk.  


* * *

**Note:** And so we enter the meat & potatoes of the story. More players are entering the ring as everyone's half-truths begin to intersect to form the full picture. The SGC is out to get Sheppard? Just who is Casey Ward? And why does she have people following her?

As always, comments, questions and critiques are welcomed and appreciated. Thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue.  


* * *

"And, we have arrived," Casey stated, turning off the engine and staring at the large house she had parked in front of. Her eyes shifted over to John as he slipped his sunglasses off and squinted at the light reflecting off of the nearly all glass home. "My brother's a little ostentatious."

"A little?"

Casey chuckled lightly and nodded towards the house, "Let's go. Sooner we get you checked out the sooner we can get the hell out of here."

"Checked out?"

"My brother's a surgeon," she explained, having left off that detail during their trip to Los Angeles. "I told you I was taking you to see a doctor."

"Yea, but I thought you meant some cheap clinic somewhere."

"Less paper trail this way. Plus, Jackson won't charge us," she pointed out and nodded when John's face scrunched up for a second and then conceded to her point. "I'm assuming he's home being that it's ten o'clock on a Saturday morning and he's the most stereotypical surgeon imaginable."

"You mean obnoxious with a lousy bedside manner?"

"Well, that and he prefers to golf on the weekend afternoons."

"And what's wrong with golf?"

She rolled her eyes at the question and climbed out of the car, immediately hurrying around to help him out. Once she was sure he had his balance they both moved towards the front door of the house where Casey rang the bell. As they waited for the door to be answered she took note of his pale complexion combined with flushed cheeks and prayed that he wasn't getting a fever. She knew Jackson; he might be a bit egotistical, but he was still a doctor. If John wasn't healing properly her brother would have the Detective in the hospital before either Casey or John realized what had happened.

The door was opened just as Casey finished the thought and to her surprise, instead of her tall, dark haired, dark eyed brother she was facing a short, blonde haired, blue eyed woman.

"Hi?" Casey asked, more then greeted, wondering if her brother had moved from the home he'd owned for eight years. "Is this the home of Jackson Ward?"

"Yes," the woman replied carefully and Casey noticed that the blonde's, shocked, focus was more on John. "He's my husband."

Casey blinked at the words and scrambled to find a response to that. It took a few seconds and all she could manage was, "Oh."

"Why are you looking for Jackson?" she asked then, still studying John who was obviously noticing it and looking uncomfortable.

"Uhh, well, he's my brother," Casey finally choked out and watched surprise play across the woman's face as she processed that.

"Casey?"

"Uh-huh," Casey replied. "I didn't realize Jack had gotten married."

"Last year," the blonde explained, stepping back and gesturing them into the house. "I'm Jeannie."

"Nice to meet you," Casey mumbled, still slightly shocked and more then a little hurt at the news. "This is my friend John. I, well, we're sorry to have bothered you but I need to see Jack if he's home?"

"In the kitchen," Jeannie told them with a, to Casey's eyes, very forced smile. "Jackson! Your sister's here!" she shouted and gestured for Casey and John to follow her into the house.

Casey followed behind the woman, John trailing a few paces, and studied the house. It was as pristine as it had always been, though she noted some more feminine touches that hadn't been around the last time Casey visited four years earlier. They arrived at the kitchen a few seconds later and Casey froze when faced with her older brother. He looked nearly the same as he always had, just four years older as she belatedly remembered his fortieth birthday had passed a month earlier. His hair was still short and neat, but a little grayer at the temples, and he had a few more lines around his eyes and mouth; it was the expression of shock and elation that was present in his eyes that stabbed her in the gut. She hadn't realized just how much she had missed him.

"Hi Jack," she whispered and waved slightly, not quite sure what she should do next. Her brother solved the problem by crossing the room in a few short strides and pulling her into a hug.

"Hi kid," he mumbled into her hair, happiness coloring his words, while squeezing her tightly. "How've you been?"

"Same old same old," she replied, pulling back having never been really comfortable with any type of closeness. It wasn't how they had been raised. "Umm, this is John," she added, gesturing back towards the Detective who was standing casually in the doorway.

"So, what are you in LA for?"

"Just passing through," she answered casually. The way her brother's wife was still staring at John had surpassed uncomfortable and into annoying; she didn't know if she should be insulted for her brother or nervous for John. "Actually, can you do me a favor? John had surgery not even two full days ago and he decided to sign out AMA from the hospital. I was hoping you could check him out and maybe write a few prescriptions if needs them?"

"AMA huh?" Jackson replied, clucking his tongue. "What kind of surgery?"

"Got shot on the job," John replied casually. "The doctor said it didn't do too much damage," he added gesturing at his shoulder, still in the sling.

"You still should have stayed in the hospital," Jackson pointed out and nodded that they should follow him. "We can do an exam in my office."

"I know I should have," John replied, in a tone Casey noted as being classically self-deprecating Sheppard. "But, I promised Case we'd go on a road-trip for so long and work's kept me so busy that I didn't want another excuse to back out. You're married, you know how it is." Casey was suddenly very glad her brother had walked ahead of them as John said that because the look she shot the Detective would have frozen fire. John merely raised an eyebrow in reply before adding loudly, "Right babe?"

"Right," Casey forced out, pushing a dopey smile on her face when Jackson turned to them, a pleased smile on his own. "John works a lot. He's a homicide detective."

"So, baby-sister's finally settling down?"

"Something like that," Casey muttered.

"I keep trying to get her to marry me," John continued, much to Casey's displeasure. "But she'll have none of it."

"Oh sweetie," Casey replied in a saccharine tone. "It's not you, it's me."

Jackson laughed at the exchange and opened the door to an office at the back of the house, "Well, he obviously cares about you to put up with your little idiosyncrasies."

"What can I say?" John replied with a smirk. "I'm completely in love with your sister," he added, his tone so sincere that for a half second Casey almost believed him herself; thankfully, she knew better.

"You know what?" Casey interjected before John could continue his half-assed cover story; at least while she could witness it. "I'm going to let you boys play doctor and I'm going to go get to know my sister-in-law."

"Hey," John said quickly and grabbed Casey's hand with his good arm before she could leave. "Get back here first," he added, pulling her in and quickly captured her lips with his. She was too shocked to react other then to kiss him back. His arm was so firm around her waist that Casey could only focus on the fact that his lips were a lot softer then she had expected they would be as they gently moved in sync with her own. Seeming to take advantage of her shock, John's tongue slipped between Casey's lips and deepened the kiss as he pulled her tighter towards him, stroking her tongue slowly, methodically and sending a shiver down Casey's spine.

When he finally pulled away, an aggravating smirk in place, she inhaled shakily in a slight daze; then had to reign in the urge to slap him as he winked and had the audacity to lightly pat her ass. She felt her mind clear and her expression harden at the action; very grateful that she wasn't facing her brother at that moment as she stared John straight in the face. The sudden fear in his eyes told Casey that John fully understood how much he was going to be paying for that move and once she saw it she nodded, stepped back and walked out of the room silently.

She slowly stalked down the hallway, back towards the kitchen, and internally cursed men named John Sheppard; ignoring the little voice inside that told her she would have found the act damn funny if she hadn't been a forced participant. Breathing deeply to calm her nerves, not admitting that the nerves were more from acknowledging the cop was a very good kisser, she strode into the kitchen and waved at Jeannie who was ending a phone call.

"No, I understand, I'll do my best. You're welcome Mer. I love you too," the blonde spoke and then frowned. "Yes Mer, I'll say hi to the voo-doo Doctor for you. He does have a name. Goodbye Mer." Casey took a seat at the table and grabbed a grape out of the bowl in the middle of the table as Jeannie hung up her cell phone and finally turned her attention to the brunette, "The boys settled in Jackson's office?"

"Yup, Jack's just gonna take a look at John's arm and make sure he's not gonna drop dead on me anytime soon."

"Well that's always a good idea," Jeannie muttered and then shook her head. "So, anyway, I'm so glad to finally meet you."

"Yea," Casey agreed, still processing that her brother had gotten married and she hadn't known. "It's great. So, what do you do?"

"I'm a physics professor at UCLA," Jeannie explained, her gaze turning towards the phone she had been speaking on, in a tone that told Casey she didn't want to talk about it. Which made no sense to the reporter.

"I didn't interrupt your phone call did I?" Casey questioned, thinking that maybe that was why Jeannie was beginning to get jumpy.

"What? Oh gosh no. I just forgot that I had something important to tell my brother. It was a super quick phone call," Jeannie explained with that forced smile back in place. It was the smile that set off the beginnings of Casey's internal alarms. She really hated it when people lied to her.

* * *

Rodney McKay stared at the phone he had just hung up and tried to decide if he could get away with killing whomever had been charged with keeping an eye on John Sheppard; because, apparently, the man had managed to get from Las Vegas to Los Angeles without anyone realizing it.

He quickly thanked whatever fates had intervened to give Jeannie clearance a few years ago; which allowed him to have someone to discuss things with. The only reason he even knew where John Sheppard was right now was because his sister knew he was looking for the man. It was just pure, dumb luck that Casey Ward happened to be Jeannie's sister-in-law (yet another reason to thank fate; Jeannie dumping that English major a few years earlier was an even better decision in hindsight). And pure, bad luck that Jeannie was feeling bad about turning over her sister-in-law's boyfriend to the SGC.

Rodney frowned as that thought occurred to him and snorted before laughing, "Boyfriend huh? Sheppard must be cooking up some cover story for them being in LA."

The fact that they were in LA was what was bothering Rodney the most; he couldn't figure out why they were, obviously, running. He didn't see that anyone had given them a reason for it; and, he was fairly certain they wouldn't find one. He had been very careful when he approached Sheppard about the case and done his best to make the Detective feel as comfortable and trusted as humanly possible given the circumstances.

"Unless Sheppard isn't the one running," he mused out loud as Casey Ward's pristine file caught his notice on the end of his desk. From all he knew about John Sheppard, the man couldn't resist a damsel in distress. Hell, in the other reality he made Captain Kirk look like a monk. "Makes sense," he considered and then picked up the phone. "Lorne, I need a team to pick up Sheppard," he spoke quickly and rattled off an address. "Jeannie's gonna keep him busy until you can get there."

"Should we pick up Ward too?"

"Might as well, who knows what she knows by now," Rodney agreed.

"You realize we're going to have to go by a regular helicopter right? It's gonna take awhile."

"Wait, what?"

"Caldwell left with the Daedalus to go back to Atlantis this morning."

Rodney froze and internally cursed Sumner and Caldwell, who had both seen Sheppard's old service record and didn't agree with the SGC's assessment about needing the man for any reason, before responding, "Fine. Since she's apparently Jeannie's sister in law, a nice prolonged family visit shouldn't be too difficult for Jeannie to manage. Just get to LA and get them. I want to go home and we can't do that unless I've got Sheppard."

"Yea. I know Doc," Lorne agreed quietly and hung up, leaving Rodney sitting in the windowless office feeling claustrophobic and very much like he had just made the worst decision of his life.

* * *

Once Jackson had finished his exam and re-bandaged John's arm, thankfully declaring the man in very good health, he handed him a prescription for an antibiotic and a pain killer and helped him re-attach the sling. And while John was grateful that the doctor had kept his scolding over John's treatment of his health to a minimum his questions about what Casey had been up to over the last two years were much less appreciated. Mainly because John couldn't for the life of him figure out how to casually answer them; and for the first time since he thought of it, his cover story about being Casey's, apparently serious, boyfriend seemed like a bad idea.

He silently trailed after Jackson and entered a very silent kitchen where he found Casey and Jeannie drinking coffee and seemingly avoiding any conversation. A raised, questioning, eyebrow in Casey's direction only received a short shake of her head that cut off any verbal questions as he took a seat at the table next to her.

"So, how'd it go?" Jeannie asked, the forced smile that had been on her face since he arrived at the house more pronounced.

"I will live to see another day," he replied to her carefully and settled back in his chair, accepting the coffee Jackson gave him. He sat quietly as Jackson tried to engage Casey in conversation; following along and picking up on whatever details he could as they talked.

From what he observed, the siblings hadn't seen each other in three years and hadn't spoken in two. And judging by the questions Jackson had tried to casually ask in his office, the doctor had no idea where his sister had even been living during those two years. He just knew she hadn't been in New York anymore. As the conversation continued he began making his own list of questions to ask Casey the second they were in private.

Which would hopefully be sooner then later because he was beginning to feel like he had a target on the back of his neck the longer he sat in this kitchen; mostly because Jeannie Ward's attention had barely left him the entire time he sat there. The woman really needed to learn the art of subtle observation. The worst part was, he couldn't figure out if he was being paranoid and she was just bored with her husband, or if there was another reason for her nervous glances in his direction. It didn't help matters that Casey's stiff posture told him she too had obviously noticed the woman's behavior and was, possibly, even more uncomfortable then he was.

A lull in the conversation gave John an opening to excuse them, as Casey had said they were just passing through, but before he could open his mouth Jeannie blurted out a question, while still staring at him, "Why'd you leave Las Vegas anyway?"

The deafening silence that filled the room, except for Casey's sharp intake of breath, was stifling. And while John remembered Jeannie hadn't been present for their road-trip explanation to Jackson; he also knew if Jackson had no idea where his sister had been living, it would stand to reason that his wife shouldn't know either.

It took a few more seconds but John finally spoke, as it was obvious Casey wasn't going to, "We didn't tell you we were in Vegas."

"Oh, well, I saw your Nevada plates," Jeannie explained. "I just assumed Vegas since I know Casey and Jackson grew up in New York City. I didn't see the big city girl moving to some small town in the dessert."

"My car still has New York plates on it. I never switched the registration," Casey replied dryly, a strange expression crossing her face. "I think we should get going now. We've got a lot of miles to turn today."

"No! Stay," Jeannie insisted, a nervously frantic tone entering her voice as her eyes shot to the clock above their heads. "You haven't seen Jackson in years and I know he's wanted to see you."

"How long ago did you meet my brother again?" Casey asked the blonde, so seemingly out of left field that even John found himself confused by the question.

"Two years ago," Jeannie replied frowning. "Why?"

"Two years ago?" Casey asked, like she hadn't just heard the answer, and John saw her complexion pale to nearly grey. His eyes slid to Jackson, almost expecting the man to question why Casey wanted to know and instead saw a contemplative expression on his face.

"Yes, two years ago at UCLA. He was guest lecturing. I was new in town. We clicked," Jeannie explained quickly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with my questions," she added, staring at them with that same nervous, searching gaze.

"You didn't," John replied smoothly, standing himself, and putting on his most charming, and dangerous, smile. The smile that said as politely as possible that the conversation was over. "But Casey's right. We have quite a bit of driving to do yet."

"Are you sure you can't stay?" Jackson asked, his tone nothing more then that of a disappointed brother.

"Yea," Casey insisted, nodding. "But hey, I'll shoot you an email. Promise."

"Alright," Jackson finally conceded and standing to give her a hug. "Where are you headed anyway?"

Casey froze at the question and John could see her mind moving quickly as she picked and discarded destinations on the fly. He stepped in and extracted her from her brother's grip, his own good arm sliding around her hip, and answered before it was obvious she was going to lie, "Seattle."

* * *

Casey would swear her heart rate didn't return to normal until she was sitting on Jason's couch, in his empty house, next to John an hour after they left her brother's house. The adrenaline she had running through her system had caused her to nearly crash her car twice on the way here; though, now that it was parked inside a garage, behind a heavy iron fence, she was feeling a little bit less sick.

"You okay?" John questioned her quietly, all teasing from earlier gone from his voice.

"Define okay?" she asked him.

"Well, how about we start with why your sister-in-law wanted to eat me for breakfast, and knew stuff about you that your brother didn't?"

"Honestly," Casey began, turning to look him in the eye. "I think she knew stuff about you and assumed it about me since we showed up together."

"You caught that whole staring game too?" John asked her with a nervous laugh, leaning back to settle into the couch. "What was with the two years ago thing? I thought you were gonna pass out when you heard that."

"That is a long story and I can't explain until Jason gets home from work. Let's just say I've had what I feel to be a damn good reason to keep my head down the last two years and it's fucking convenient that my confirmed bachelor brother married a physicist two years ago."

"One year ago," John corrected, his smirk returning.

"Whatever. He met her two years ago. Same difference," Casey grumbled, glaring at him. "Also, don't think you aren't going to pay dearly for slapping my ass."

"Really?" John asked, sitting up slightly in shock. "That's what bothered you? Not the kiss?"

"Your tongue down my throat didn't do you any favors either flyboy."

"I thought we should stick with the cover story. And then, after I kissed you I realized I better make it a damn good kiss or else you might react badly and find a way to kill me right then and there. Causing you momentary brain damage seemed to be the smarter move."

"Oh right, because, I was so receptive."

"Uhh, I was there. You were definitely receptive," John replied, his tone purely teasing. "Besides, you're hot, if we were really dating I'd never keep my hands off of you."

"If we were really dating there'd be a valid argument to your brain damage theory," Casey shot back, feeling relief over being able to fall back into what had become their default setting - snark.

"You only say that 'cause you've never slept with me."

"I have so!"

John raised an eyebrow and replied, "Sleeping fully clothed next to my injured, pain killer infused, body in your bed does not count. And even then, it was only because I am a gentleman and I refused to fully steal your bed and let you sleep on the couch."

Casey blushed when she snorted in laughter at his comment, remembering the full out argument they had that night, and shook her head as she realized it had been not even twenty-four hours earlier. The past few days chose that moment to catch up with her, "I'm really tired John."

"Yea," he breathed out, deflating in front of her as his eyes closed and he leaned his head back on the couch. "Me too."

Casey observed his still form and debated showing him to a guest room to sleep for a few hours before she made him explain what he had gotten her into; she refused to admit that she could have said no and ignored his request for help in the first place. Her sister-in-law's questions, questions that had followed a phone call she claimed to be to her brother, popped into her mind again and she made her decision, "What the fuck is going on John?"

His green eyes opened and he turned his head to face her with a bright smile, "Damned if I know."

"Not gonna cut it Sheppard," she snapped back, all her frustration at the last few months coming to a head and focusing on him. The weird case she had felt pulled to, the non-answers she had recieved from him for months, finding him bleeding in the dessert, the FBI swooping in and finally his request that she all but run away with him if she wanted any answers at all.

"Fine," he finally replied, after meeting her gaze full on for a few minutes. "Just, let me stress, that I swear on our weird, friendship, thing that I'm telling the God's honest truth here. And you need to promise me, no matter how hard it is for that blood sucking reporter inside of you, that you'll wait til I'm finished to react."

Casey considered his request for a few seconds and hearing the pleading tone in his voice, combined with the request in his eyes, nodded.

"And you're sure we're safe to talk here?"

"Yes John," she insisted, pushing down another wave of frustration. "Jason believes healthy paranoia will keep you alive. Which, has to do with that thing I can't explain til he gets home. No one can listen in, or see us or anything in this house. It's a damned batcave."

"Good," he whispered, his eyes fixing on a spot on the far wall as he began to speak and Casey's stomach began to twist into knots. An hour later he had finished explaining everything, in full detail, rather then the half-edited explanation she had recieved at her own apartment, and waited while she sat next to him in silence.

She studied his face, meeting his eyes straight on when he was done talking, looking for any sign of deception, of a joke, of glee for pulling one over on her. What she saw chilled her to the bone and she reacted the only way she could at that very moment, "I knew I should have left you on the side of the damn road."

And as John began laughing, the kind of laughter that comes from a healthy dose of real honest fear, Casey could only think that if aliens were real, then what happened to her two years ago suddenly became a lot more confusing and yet, also made a lot more sense.

It also seemed as if she and John had a lot more to talk about.

* * *

**Note:** I feel like I should take some over/under bets on how long before Casey takes John's gun and shoots him.

In all seriousness, I sat down last night and spent a few hours working out an (insane) back-timeline to work with this story; examining all five seasons to try and see how certain things would change/stay the same due to a lack of Sheppard being present. I've taken a few liberties with things as well in the building of this timeline but hopefully it'll just enhance a nice little AU world (ie: Jeannie). Suffice it to say that a lot of things we know about the "real" Atlantis timeline are very, very different (while some stuff is quite the same); but different experiences lead to different people (and don't be shocked if some Atlantis cast pop up in unexpected places as a result).

Thank you for reading and, as always, comments, questions and critiques are very much appreciated.


	7. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue.  


* * *

"McKay," Rodney growled as he answered the ringing phone on his desk, not for the first time desperately missing the earpieces that were such an integral part of his daily life. Even the cell phone he had been given, once it was decided he would be on Earth for a longer stretch of time, still felt alien in his hand.

"It's Lorne," the voice on the other end answered. "We missed them."

"What? How the hell did you manage to miss them?"

"Apparently your sister tried to get a little too chatty, way too quickly. She scared them off with some questions."

"Excuse me?" Rodney stammered out; Jeannie was one of the most congenial people he knew. He didn't think it was possible for her to make someone uncomfortable.

"She asked why they left Vegas; I guess she didn't realize her husband didn't know his sister had been living in Vegas."

"Fuck," Rodney groaned and glared at the receiver when all he received in answer was a light chuckle. "You find this amusing Major?"

"Not for the reasons you're thinking Doc," Lorne answered, still sounding too amused for Rodney's taste.

"Then what are you laughing at?"

"Well, you said that the Sheppard in that other reality was more then a little resourceful. I guess I just find it funny that even a supposed fuck-up like our reality's Sheppard has that trait."

"How lucky for us," Rodney snapped, not admitting his complete lack of surprise. He had seen that ingenuity in the Detective's eyes when he was letting him go. The scruffy man had been surprised it had been so easy to get away; but Rodney had also known in that second that nothing would have kept him there the moment he wanted to leave. "Listen, just track him down."

"Jeannie said they were heading to Seattle," Lorne supplied. "That'll give us a day or two to track them before they get there. Especially since they appear to be driving."

"Seattle?" Rodney scoffed, this time letting his own amusement color the conversation. "They're still in Los Angeles Major. I don't know where but I do know that much."

"How do you know that?" Lorne questioned, suspicion overcoming his amusement.

"Because that's the oldest trick in the book Major. Somehow Jeannie tipped our hand, and I don't know how, and they took to ground. They'd want off the road and off possible detection immediately."

"Alright, I can see the logic in that," Lorne admitted and then paused. Rodney waited for the next question he could sense coming and the Air Force officer didn't disappoint, "What I don't get is how Sheppard was tipped off?"

"He wasn't," Rodney supplied, flipping open the minimal information he had on Casey Ward. "She was."

"The reporter?"

"Yes Major."

"What'd she do that we're suddenly so interested in her?" Lorne asked, the suspicion, that was beginning to annoy Rodney, present again in his voice.

"Someone else is interested in her enough to wipe almost all information on her," Rodney explained. "That alone makes her interesting; add in the fact that she's the one helping Sheppard to run? We can't afford that kind of security risk." He heard Lorne sigh on the other end of the phone and ignored the twinge in his own gut. "Major?"

"I don't like this Doc," the officer finally replied. "As much as I don't like grabbing Sheppard, at least I can kind of understand it. Hell, he was military. But this is just a girl. She didn't do anything."

"I agree with you," Rodney admitted, lowering his guard around one of the few people who knew the real Rodney McKay. "Listen, just focus on Sheppard. If you can't grab the girl, don't bother. But we need him."

"Caldwell and Sumner don't seem to think so."

"Yes, well, they're short-sighted idiots," Rodney replied, rolling his eyes at the thought of the two military officers who had been continual thorns in his side since Elizabeth had been let go by the IOA at the end of the expedition's second year. He still got a little jolt of satisfaction over remembering their shocked expressions when Woosley had been brought in to replace her; rather then either of the Colonel's receiving the coveted Expedition Leader position. "Listen, when I met Major John Sheppard in that other reality he had one of, if not the, strongest ATA gene on record."

"Yea, I know Doc. You've explained this about fifty times already," Lorne interrupted. "The IOA wants him to be your lab rat. But they're expecting that same guy you met. They're expecting the Air Force pilot who was offered a slot with the SGC when it was founded. They're expecting the guy who picked them over flying black ops in South America. They're expecting the good little soldier who had been serving with Sumner for years; the good little soldier who Sumner chose as his second. Our Sumner took one look at our Sheppard's record and almost ripped it up."

"Yea well, they're getting the guy who didn't do any of that. Ya know, I never even thought to ask, you think the SGC offered him that deal here too?"

"Who knows?" Lorne replied and Rodney could almost see the shrug. "They don't exactly explain to you what they're recruiting for when they ask."

"They don't?"

Lorne's barked laughter made Rodney's cheeks redden, "Not to the military they don't. You just accept secret mission A or B."

"Whatever," Rodney grumbled. "Just pick him up so I can convince him to come work with us. I just want to go home already."

"We all do Doc," Lorne agreed, though Rodney could still hear the hint of doubt in his voice. "I'd still like it on record that I'm not real comfortable with what boils down to kidnapping an American citizen."

"Duly noted Major," Rodney replied. "Anything else?"

"Before me and my team probably have to tear up LA to find an ex-special ops solider?" the Major asked dryly.

"Yes."

"Okay then," Lorne began and then paused for a moment. "I'm not real comfortable with how comfortable you appear to be with this either."

Rodney heard the words from his friend, heard the unspoken accusation, and closed his eyes. He pushed the orders he had received out of his mind and chose to use the truth when he answered his friend, "I'm not either Evan. But it's out of our hands as of now and I'd prefer if it was you and your boys who brought him in then anyone else the SGC might send."

There was silence on the other end of the phone as Lorne considered his words and then finally a sigh and an answer, "Point taken. I'll call you when I find something."

"Thanks."

Rodney hung up the phone and found the wall incredibly interesting as Evan Lorne's words from the night Sheppard had been shot circulated through his head. He could still hear his friend's enraged shouts as he let loose on Rodney, Zelenka, Keller and Woolsey. His words about how the SGC had left Sheppard to rot out there. How they wouldn't pick him up after he had just saved their collective asses. He could still hear Woolsey trying to calm down the Major, reassuring him that no one on the Atlantis end wanted something like this to happen. He still remembered Jennifer asking why Evan was even surprised by the lack of a rescue; Sheppard had been dishonorably discharged.

"For doing the right thing," Rodney whispered Evan's parting shot and answer to Jennifer's comment out loud to the, now, empty office. The parting shot that had led to the Major taking off in a truck to try and locate a man he had never even met; but whom, he knew, in another reality would have given his life to save Evan's.

Less then six hours later, someone at the IOA had remembered Rodney's report from three years earlier; and the strength of John Sheppard's ATA gene. Less then six hours later Rodney McKay, Evan Lorne and Richard Woolsey had been tasked with bringing John Sheppard in, by any means necessary, to work for the SGC and Atlantis. And no matter what he told anyone, or how much he tried to convince himself it was the right thing to do, Rodney was hating every second of it.

* * *

A muffled curse, as the result of an ill-advised stretching motion, was the only sound to break the silence of the room John had been sleeping in. He took a few seconds to orient himself and remembered that Casey had shown him up to one of the guest bedrooms on the second floor of the large Hollywood Hills home very shortly after their conversation. Finally, a glance at his watch told him it was still Saturday; though now it was approaching eight in the evening.

"Did not mean to sleep that long," he muttered as he slid out of the, incredibly, comfortable bed. Slowly making his way through the dark room, and cursing early winter sunsets, he flipped the en suite bathroom light on and grimaced at his own reflection. "At least my cheek looks better," he told himself with a dry laugh. Lifting his shirt with his good hand, he inspected his stiff torso once more and groaned, "Too bad that doesn't. No wonder Casey looked like she thought a strong wind would knock me over."

John quickly took care of his personal needs, bathroom, brushing his teeth and washing up enough to be reasonably presentable, then shuffled back through the bedroom and out into the hall. He paused on the way to where he remembered the stairs to be and gently pushed open the door to the room Casey said she'd be taking; it was the sight of the empty bed that gave him pause. The dread that filled his stomach at the sight left him cold and momentarily filled with fear. If the next second hadn't included the sound of Casey's laughter drifting from downstairs John wasn't entirely sure what his next reaction would have been.

Having spent the last twenty-four hours constantly in her presence, longer if you count when he was unconscious, was a crash-course in reminding John just how quickly you can get attached to someone; especially in high pressure situations. Now the thought of getting her involved borderline terrified him.

"Idiot," he hissed. "You shouldn't have dragged her into this," he added, slapping himself in the forehead and leaning back against the door frame.

"Yea well, I'm in it now flyboy," Casey's voice answered his personal reprimand. "You going to come downstairs and meet Jason or stand up here and sulk?"

"Sulking sounds good."

"Tough shit," she replied and grabbed his good arm to steer him towards the stairs. "Come on. There's coffee."

"Could go for something stronger," John muttered quietly. It only took a silent glare to get him to add, "I know. I know. Painkillers. No booze."

He silently followed her into the kitchen, putting aside his current worries for the moment, and had to forcibly push down the tension that suddenly coiled in his stomach at the sight of the tall, blonde, man leaning against the kitchen counter.

"John, this is Jason," Casey began the introductions. "Jason, this is John. Play nice."

"Nice to meet you John," Jason immediately said, a too bright smile crossing his face as he held hand out for John to shake. The injured man immediately reciprocated both greeting and handshake before letting Casey lead him to the kitchen table. "We were thinking pizza for dinner. How's that sound to you?" Jason continued, staring John straight in the eye.

"That's fine," he answered with a half-shrug; his appetite had decided to take a vacation in the last five minutes. There was something predatory with the way the homeowner was eying Casey every few seconds and supposed friend or not, the Detective was very tempted to tell Casey to grab her shit and get in the car. He just wished he knew if it was from the sudden over-protective instinct that had sprung up in him, or if there was some real reason to be wary of the other man.

"Good, pizza it is then," Jason replied and crossed the room to pick up the phone where he began dialing and strolled out of the kitchen.

His attention was brought back around to the room when Casey carefully laid a hand on his good arm, "Hmm?"

"Do you need me to change your bandages?" she asked him casually, as though anything about the situation were normal.

"Not til tomorrow," John answered immediately; in the back of his mind he couldn't help but cynically point out that at one point in his life being shot, hiding out and having a partner had been normal. He just didn't understand how Casey wasn't freaking out. "Your brother said twenty-four hours."

"Alright then," she agreed, taking a seat next to him and placing a cup of coffee in front of each of them. They sat, sipping their drinks, for a few more seconds before the brunette blurted out something that shocked John to his core, "I told Jason."

"You did what?" he half shouted, half gasped; belatedly wondering if that was what had set his teeth on edge with the other man. If he had somehow known, from the looks he was receiving, that Casey's friend thought he was completely cracked.

"I had to tell him," she began explaining quietly. "First of all we're basically hiding here, in his house. Secondly, he can help."

"Oh yea?" John asked doubtfully.

"I can," Jason interjected, entering the kitchen again. John waited for a better explanation and instead received a file folder dropped on the table in front of him as Jason joined them at the table.

"What's this?" he questioned, opening the folder and skimming the headlines of the newspaper article proofs inside. "Dismembered Elderly Found in Garbage?"

"That's the first article. The whole story's been kept fairly quiet," Jason began narrating the story surrounding the articles in front of John. "About a month and a half ago, LAPD found what looks to be about fifteen bodies dumped in a landfill. Since then, eight other bodies have popped up around LA."

John flipped a few more pages and stared at the series of headlines; all with bylines by Jason Roberts.

"PD thinks it's a bunch of elderly homeless getting killed and chopped. They jumped to that lovely conclusion since, as far as they can tell, no one's been reporting their grandparents missing."

"Not like they'd have a reason to think otherwise," John muttered, thinking back on his own wild theories from Vegas. "Why should they be thinking something else?" he questioned, slightly louder and trying to think like a cop again. Once again, having to take a short breath and remind himself it hadn't been more then three days since he turned in his badge.

"Well, I mean," Jason began with a slight stammer and John could see his surprise that the Detective was doubting the cause of death. "Yes, no one has reported their grandparents missing; but, how many homeless women in their eighties do you know that wear size two brand new Chanel jeans?"

"It's LA," John answered without looking up from the article he was skimming; devil's advocate never hurt anyone. "And how do you know they were new? If these people were in a landfill, they'd be filthy."

"Well, the bodies were dismembered post-mortem, so no blood got on the clothing and the crime lab said the jeans were brand new. Hell, they were from this season's collection and the girl was wearing a pair while working on them."

"That's kind of creepy," Casey broke in quietly; John knew she had been following the conversation like a hawk, her ever present notebook only proving he was right.

"What? That she was wearing those jeans?" Jason asked in obvious confusion.

When Casey laughed in reply, John had to stifle his own, having a fairly good idea along the lines of what she was going to say, "No, that someone working in the crime lab can afford Chanel jeans from this season. What do they pay people in this city?"

"Alright," John interrupted, when Jason opened his mouth to reply. "Let's keep on track. What about DNA and prints? Reconstruction on the skull for a facial rec?"

"Hands and heads haven't been located yet," Jason explained and John immediately found himself swallowing down nausea; apparently he had missed that part of the article. He also began re-examining the few photo's Jason had. The Wraith didn't strike him as the type to go about trying to prevent victim recognition; mainly, 'cause he doubted they cared enough. Jason seemed to be following his train of thought and added, "And yea, there's a good chance this is really just some sick freak using an embalming table somewhere. But if it is a Wraith? It's a lot smarter then the one you ran into in Vegas. And from what Casey told me, that one wasn't exactly a dim-bulb."

"DNA?" John prompted again.

"LAPD claims they're backlogged."

"And let me guess?" John stated, staring in disgust at the folder. "Because they're oh so convinced that this is just some whack job, quote unquote, cleaning up the streets of riff raff, they aren't exactly running for a DNA comparison to anyone."

"Time is money; and the LAPD likes to pretend they have none of either."

"Wonderful," John mumbled, dropping the folder and rubbing his temples. "Any shot of us getting our hands on the case files? I'm guessing you're a reporter based on this folder, not a cop."

"LA Times," Jason agreed. "I do have someone working on getting copies of case files, or at the very least just the coroner's reports."

"Good, with the autopsy results I can see if there were any," John began and then paused, thinking frantically, and snapping his fingers. "Feeding marks, or if this is, like you said, some freak draining people of all bodily fluids until they're mummified."

"Well, the files won't be available until tomorrow late-morning and that's at the earliest; if we can even get our hands on them."

"Who's getting them for you?" Casey asked, looking up from where she had begun scanning the articles in the folder.

"Casey, seriously? You know better then anyone that reporters don't reveal our sources."

John felt suddenly justified in his own discomfort when Casey frowned instead of agreeing with the other reporter. She finally shrugged, sighed and went back to reading.

"Alright," John again tried to bring them back on track. "So tomorrow morning at the earliest; that works. I want us to lay low until tomorrow night anyway. I don't want to go poking around LA right away."

"Probably a good idea," Casey agreed, nodding slowly, without looking up from the folder. He noticed that crease appearing between her eyes and wished they were alone so he could ask what had caught her attention. She finally shook her head, slammed the folder closed and looked up, "Okay, so how about we get you to a couch so you can relax while we wait for pizza."

"That's part of a plan," John replied, hoisting himself out of the chair with his good arm and wincing when the movement pulled his stitches slightly. "The other part is you explaining whatever it is you said you'd explain after Jason got back. Especially since you deemed it necessary to tell him my secret."

"Let's eat first," Casey again tried to derail his line of questioning. "Please? Jason's going to go pick up the pizza, we'll eat and then we'll talk."

John saw the other man standing in the kitchen with his car keys swinging from a finger and lightly shrugged, "Fine. I can do that. But after dinner."

"Yes," Casey agreed. "After dinner. Promise."

* * *

Max Dennis briefly wondered if some fate had cursed him in another life. He honestly couldn't understand what he had done to deserve the babysitting duty he had been placed on two years earlier. He had worked diligently for years for the NID; procuring technology, and information, and walking it right out of Area 51. When he somehow managed to not get arrested he had simply moved, with most of the rest of the still free operatives, right over to The Trust. It had been one of the easiest decisions he had made in his career; especially, once he found out that The Trust had no intention of allowing anyone to realize just how deep and how wide spread they were.

Therefore, years later, he still had no idea why he was sitting outside of a house belonging to someone named Jason Roberts, while Sheppard and Ward sat inside. He completely ignored how he had managed to lose them in Los Angeles; and only a call from much higher up in the chain of command had clued him into their location. His instructions were to sit and wait; follow if they leave.

"I can do this," he muttered. "I can wait it out for as long as you want to hole up in there."

A few more minutes passed, without a sign of any movement from the house (the most excitement had been the owner's SUV leaving ten minutes earlier), and Max reached for the file he had received earlier that morning. It was the most detailed information he had received on his mark since he began following her two years earlier. Unfortunately, he didn't think his employers had meant to inspire the slight trace of sympathy and doubt that now rested heavily on his conscience.

In front of him, stuffed into one manila envelope, were reports about six months of captivity, three years ago, in a still undisclosed location in Afghanistan and her subsequent rescue by the United States Air Force and treatment in Germany at a base hospital. While the information he was given didn't explain why she had been there; Max knew her prior employer had been the New York Times, and from what little research he had done, he knew she was an up and coming journalist at one point. He could guess why she was there.

It was the next part of the file that turned his stomach. Despite knowing how deep their agents ran and in how many different circles; he was still a little startled to see reports about Ward's quarantine a week after reaching Germany.

Skimming further he read that one of the doctors at the base hospital had ties to The Trust and had recognized a protein in Ward's blood that all doctor's connected to the organization were tasked with checking for. That had started six months of testing, at a different facility, for the reporter. Apparently, she was told she had contracted something while in captivity and they wanted to make sure she was fully cleared before releasing her. He read reports about how Ward hadn't appeared to believe them.

"No shit kid," he muttered, laughing lightly. "You know," he continued, as though the picture from his file was the woman in flesh. "My life would have been so much easier if they had figured out how strong that damn stupid gene of yours is." His thoughts cynically turned to the complete lack of any worthwhile Ancient Tech that had been available to The Trust at the time of Casey's "quarantine". Unfortunately, all they knew was that Casey probably had a useful gene; they just couldn't tell if that meant she could turn the lights on, or blow them all sky high with The Chair. "Well kiddo, I suppose you wouldn't need a babysitter if they thought you were worthless. Take comfort in that. But, since so far we can't have you; then no one can."

Max was just getting ready to settle back and attempt to catch a short nap when a knock on his half opened window startled him. Glancing up, as he hadn't expected the car that had left thirty minutes earlier to be back already, he began preparing a reason that he was sitting near the end of the driveway of the private home. It was when he registered the stance and object that his eyes widened in shock; seconds later there was a quiet flash, and the strong scent of gunpowder, before Max Dennis was carefully pushed over into the passenger seat and the folder was removed from his lap.

Scant minutes later, the car was started and driven down the hill and away from the private home where Casey Ward and John Sheppard were waiting inside for the very man driving Max Dennis' vehicle to return with pizza.

* * *

Possible Wraith loose in LA? Our protagonists being hunted by two different organizations? Yea; not a great day to be John Sheppard.

Also, seriously? Think about it - not all the people that have the ATA gene are going to be doctors, scientists, military, or in some other field that is easily accessible to the SGC. There's gotta be normal, every day people out there with it. So what would happen to one of them if a less reputable organization found out (especially if that person could, possibly, do more then turn the lights on)? That being said...anyone wanna take any guesses as to why Jason shot the Trust agent? Any thoughts on Lorne and Rodney's part in all of this?

As always, comments, questions and criticism is welcomed with open arms. It encourages me to work harder and faster and lets me know where your (the readers) thoughts are. Much love.


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